MINA SMITH, WRITER & CREATOR

Written for a short, short story class I took on Skill Share. It was a lot of fun!

She sat, her hair pressed against the lavishly carved chair railing of her sitting room. The ceiling looked rather distant, but somehow still oppressively close. She was alone, the seams of her grey skirts beginning to seep into the grey paint of the walls. It was raining again, the teardrops splattered dully against the window, over and over. The rain distorted the view through the window, twisting the world into a kaleidoscope of grey things, blobs of grey over grey, with darker grey smatterings, and tilted grey towers. How long had it been since she’d moved? Perhaps since this morning. She couldn’t remember. A click, the sound loud and riotous after the long silence dabbled with water drips. Click, clank, squeak. Such noise! What was the noise? It was the heavy sitting room door. She’d thought it rusted shut and too covered in dust to move. She thought it too had grown into the walls. She didn’t turn her head to investigate the intruder; her hair, dull and black, was growing into the shadows in the corner, making it difficult to move her head. “Good evening, my lady,” the voice was like a song; it grated on her so. Who was speaking? She managed to tilt her head, ever so slightly. “Good evening.” She answered, almost automatically. Was it evening? Her voice was tired, grown old with disuse. A girl stood at the foot of her chaise, lit brightly from a candle in her hand. “How are you feeling this evening, my lady?” But she watched, just watched. The smiling child went around to all of the candles, lighting the room with warm yellows and flickering orange. The girl was dressed all in red, from head to toe, her green eyes twinkling with merry. The girl finished lighting the candles. “Supper is almost up, my lady.” She curtsied, just a bit, a look of something beautiful in her eyes. She found rainbows in the flare of her skirts, a touch of the scent of lavender. She sat up a little straighter, and the shadows that had been pulling at her skirts receded. She sat up to watch her leave, and saw that the colors remained in the room, long after the little girl had left.

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